Taking What is Mine
by lezlarr
Summary: Drabble for Earth Customs challenge. Vegeta will do whatever he has to get Bulma back. M for violence, language.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z.**

****A/N: So, just some drabble for Blue & Black's Earth's Customs Challenge. I'm not actually submitting, it's more of just a personal challenge. Vegeta is my favorite character, and I really wanted to do something with my favorite couple, especially one taking all these cute ideas and making them dark. Please review, I'll really appreciate it. I'll update every few days, because this isn't my main story, this is just something to keep me occupied between updates. It won't be long. Enjoy.

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**Sharing**

He would never openly admit it, as it would be a serious blow to his pride, but Vegeta was a jealous man on the best of days. He convinced his wife that he didn't give a damn what she did with her time, so long as she left him out of it. But that was a bold faced lie, and he was pretty sure Bulma new that. No matter how guarded he kept himself, she could read him like a fucking book, and it infuriated him. Yet, at the same time, it was a comfort; he could communicate things to this woman he would never be able or be willing to say aloud, and still she knew, understood perfectly. It was like she was the decoder to his mannerisms, designed specifically to calm him, understand him, rein in his murderous tendencies and turn him into a decent man.

But more than that, she was his. She knew that, he knew that, had in fact told her on several occasions. At first she misunderstood his words as his usual Royal conceit, but time taught her otherwise. Facts were, he cared about her more than he would ever admit, and his possession and protection was just his method of conveying that. Vegeta didn't like to share her, but his jealous and violent rampages were down to a manageable level, so all was well.

Until now.

Vegeta didn't like to share, and he had no intention to. Especially not Bulma.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball Z.**

A/N: This one is for the prompt: family dinner. So, I had finals this week, and all the hits and reviews made it so much better; thanks to reviewers, I really appreciate the input. Anyways. Enjoy!

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**Family Dinner**

"Dad?" A grunt. "Where's Mom?"

Vegeta shrugged, too focused on his food to pay much attention. Trunks rolled his eyes and scowled, looking much like his father in the process.

"Dad, it's late. Mom never misses dinner without telling us first."

His father growled and leveled the boy with a hard stare. "Your mother is a working woman, Trunks. She is probably in the labs, catching up on something."

The boy inhaled deeply, slowly, and Vegeta finally noticed a touch of nerves in his son's gaze.

"I-" he started, but stopped. He didn't want to say it, and glanced back down at his food. "I can't feel her, Dad. She's not in the compound."

Vegeta sighed in exasperation; the boy could be as paranoid as his mother. He knew he could feel for Bulma's ki much easier than his son could, partially because he was older and more capable, and partially because he tracked Bulma _a lot_. But she'd told him earlier today that she would be on an errand in town and not to worry, so he hadn't. He'd focused on his training in the Gravity Simulator and sparred with his 12-year-old son. Trunks was just worrying himself for no reason, and more out of a want to get back to his meal in peace than to ease his own growing suspicions, Vegeta reached out and sought for Bulma.

Trunks watched his father's eyebrows twitch downward, and he suddenly felt a heavy knot develop in his stomach.

"Dad?"

"Quiet."

He reached further, focusing so hard he didn't notice his fingers obliterating the fork still in his hand. There was a pit in his own stomach, and it grew heavier with each passing moment where he couldn't feel his wife.

"Call her."

"I did. She didn't answer."

"Call her _again_."

"But-"

"_Don't make me tell you again, boy._"

Trunks blinked at his father; he hadn't seen that frustration in a while, not since his last spar with Goku, so he nodded and pulled his cell-phone from his pocket, dialing his mother again. Straight to voicemail. Vegeta heard from where he was and began to grind his teeth. "Did she tell you where she was going?" Trunks shook his head, willing for his hands to stop shaking. His father never worried like this. Sure, he would yell at his mom if she was gone for too long, but nothing like this, which meant he couldn't feel her either. They sat in silence for a moment, each searching for her ki, trying desperately to find her. Maybe she'd been in an accident. Maybe she got sidetracked. Maybe she was just stuck in traffic.

The phone rang. Vegeta was there in a second.

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A/N: Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: Oh my goodness! So many reviews, it makes me swoon! Thank you guys SO DAMN MUCH. Your input helps, really. You won't see an impact in this segment, because I try to stay at least two chapters ahead. Sorry, I know you guys want longer updates, but that's kind of why I update so quickly. I'll try to make them a little longer, maybe push for closer to 800-900 words, rather than 200-500, which will be easier. I'm just setting the stage, guys; the show hasn't even gotten started. There will be at least 10 updates, maybe more, depending on how this goes. We'll see. The more you review, the sooner you'll see an update. Up to you. Enjoy.

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**Homework**

Trunks sat at his desk, staring hard at the textbook in front of him. His father had left immediately after the phone call, only telling Trunks to do his homework; he'll be back in an hour. He'd been sitting at his desk, staring down at the same sentence over and over again. He wasn't even sure it was in English now. It just looked like random symbols scrawled over the page. His mind was focused on the look on Vegeta's face when he'd answered that phone, their house phone, a number only a few had. Chi-Chi, Krillin, Roshi, Yamcha, his grandparents. A few coworkers that Bulma trusted with a private number. They weren't in the phone book. It wasn't a number readily available to the public.

Confusion. Rage. So much rage.

But most of all, Trunks had seen fear in his father's eyes, right before that scowl he'd come to associate with bloodshed plastered itself firmly on Vegeta's features.

Growling in frustration, Trunks rested his elbows on his textbook and put his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes and willing himself to concentrate. It pissed him off that he was helpless, waiting for his father like some weak human. And he was scared, so scared that something was wrong, and even more worried what his father would do if they couldn't find Bulma before his patience and sanity snapped.

_Where are you, Mom?_

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_A/N: _Where's Bulma? REVIEW AND YOU'LL FIND OUT.


	4. Chapter 4

**Dislcaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: Woo, here we are folks, a few answers for once. Or maybe not. Anyways! Thank you for reviewing, I hope you guys keep it up. This one was written for the prompt: Shopping.

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**Shopping**

The smells did nothing to curb his frustration, especially since they kept distracting him from what he was searching for. Dozens of perfumes, each stronger and more offending than the last; food, trying to distract him from his search; the distinct scent of blood.

That made him stop.

Wearing a leather jacket, faded jeans, a dark t-shirt and a black baseball cap, the prince looked as innocuous as anyone else in the square, mulling about and glancing into the shop windows. His face was set in a firm scowl; his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. She'd come shopping, that much he could tell. He would catch her scent once in a while, or sometimes gossiping workers telling one another about encountering _the_ Bulma Briefs earlier. It was times like this when he hated Capsule Corp. and the limelight his wife was in, because people are stupid and violent and would do things like-

He shook his head, growling at his own chain of thoughts. Couldn't think about it. Had to focus.

Blood. Yes, where was the blood?

He followed the scent, head down and eyes darting into the dark; the sun had set some time ago, but Vegeta preferred it this way. He could hide in the dark. He could ambush. He could track. He could kill, something the fingers of his right hand were _itching_ to do.

The Saiyan's head whipped to the side when the wind shifted, making the smell thicker, stronger. Briskly, without glancing around, he strolled into the mouth of a dark alley. Trash was pushed off around the sides, as if a strong gust of wind had blown straight down. Nearby was a discarded capsule for a car. Near the entrance, he found a few drops of blood on the ground, more on the wall just above; two strands of cerulean hair were stuck in the bricks. That old fire lit in his eyes, that old itch to slaughter everything within a hundred mile radius sprang to life. _Kill them all, Vegeta,_ Frieza's voiced echoed in his mind. _Rid the planet of vermin; the universe won't miss them._

She'd been ambushed. Someone had been doing a little window shopping of their own.

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A/N: Please review! See you guys in a few days!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

****A/N: Woo, another installment, for the prompt Nap. It's short, but this one is designed for the simple purpose of answering questions. Thank you so much for all of the reviews! The biggest comment I'm getting is that the installments are too short; sorry guys, that's not going to change much. This is a drabble series, and part of the Earth Customs challenge was "at least 200 words." Anyways, enjoy!

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**Nap**

The only sound was a soft tapping as Vegeta's feet touched the hard concrete of the balcony. He held his hat loosely as one hand ran tiredly through his hair. The sun was rising against his back, and the grey light was unforgiving as it exposed his haggard face. Not for the first time, the Saiyan felt his age and the nagging guilt of inadequacy. The bed he shared with his wife seemed to call to him, taunt him, offer reprieve from his exhaustion, though he would be alone. Slowly, his feet dragged him closer.

_We have Bulma._

_Twenty million zeni by tomorrow night or we start shipping her back to you._

_Piece._

_By._

_Piece._

Idly, as he lay staring up at the ceiling, the prince wondered what he would do if his in-laws or son opened a package with a severed leg in it. He wondered what he would do if he found it. Vegeta's mind started to slip away, following a train of thought he had no control of, until he was jerking awake, his mind's eye still focused on its own horrific conjurations.

Bulma, laying on the ground of a dark cellar, eyes wide and unseeing, one leg, an ear, and three fingers on her right hand missing. A single thread of blood dripping across her cheek and off her nose. Her lips parted. Her heart still.

The heels of his hands dug into his eyes as he growled. No, sleeping was not an option. Bulma was missing and he had to find her, hopefully in better shape than he was expecting.

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A/N: REVIEW.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do no own dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: This update was for the prompt: Attraction Park. I'll be honest, in Texas, we don't use that term, so it took me a LONG time to figure out what the fuck it was talking about. Ha ha! Oh well. Alright, time for an update. Thank you, as always, for the reviews. Keep it up, guys, we're getting closer to the moment of truth! Enjoy.

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**Attraction Park**

He shouldn't have been surprised to see Trunks hadn't gone to school, nor should he have been surprised to see the boy was awake, sitting at the kitchen table with two laptops open and whirring in front of him. Neither father nor son spoke as Vegeta approached the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Trunks seemed enraptured with what he was working on, and the Saiyan recognized that look enough to know he'll hear about it soon enough; Bulma wore the expression in her labs.

"Dad," Trunks called, not looking up as he darted from one computer to the next. "I really think it's time we called Goku."

Vegeta's eye twitched. "No."

"Dad, he could find the Namekians from King Kai's planet; I'm sure he could-"

"That clown will be kept out of this!" the prince shouted; Trunks stared up at him, wide-eyed, computers forgotten. "As will the rest of those weak imbeciles!"

"But we need help!"

"No!" The porcelain mug was shattered in Vegeta's hand, and he slammed a fist on the kitchen table; splintering echoed out. "I will not have a bunch of fools lining up outside of our door like some damned circus attraction! I will not be made a mockery of! I will not be seen as weak!"

Vegeta was shaking as Trunks gaped at him. "You're refusing help because of your _pride_? Mom is _missing_, and you obviously haven't been able to find her-"

"_Don't you think I know that?_" he bellowed back. "It is my duty to protect you and your mother, and I will be _damned_ if I let that third-rate trash interfere!"

For some time, the boy just stared at his father, unsure of what to say or how to respond without enticing another proverbial explosion. Finally, Trunks sighed in surrender and nodded. "I won't tell anyone, not even Goten."

Vegeta gave a quick nod and jogged back up the stairs to his room. His son went back to tracing his mother's cell phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

****A/N: This is for the prompt: skating. I love using these unrelated prompts for this story. It's fun. Thanks for the reviewers, seems to be the same ones each update. More, please? Anyways, enjoy.

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**Skating **

He couldn't stop pacing. Back and forth, like a caged lion, frustrated and uncertain. One hand ran through his hair roughly, the other clenched and unclenched. He just didn't know what to do. She was missing, her ki was undetectable, no one had seen her since the evening before, and the kidnappers were threatening her life if he didn't pay them. The money was no problem; the Saiyan prince was sure Dr. Briefs would pay the money without batting an eye if he knew the situation. No, it was a matter of principle. No one took his woman and got away with it.

Something rattled on the dresser across the room; Vegeta scowled at it and strolled over to investigate. It was the cell phone Bulma had forced on him, one he never took or used or acknowledged. Truth be told, he'd only accepted the damned thing to shut her up. Now it was lit up and buzzing, the display reading '**RESTRICTED CALLER**.' Angrily, he snatched it up and flipped it open; it was another number that no one should be able to contact. Only Trunks, Bulma, and Dr. Briefs knew it even existed.

"Who is this?" he barked into the phone, already knowing who it would be.

"_There's a skating rink in the southern part of West City. Bring the money in a black bag and leave it under the table with red sneakers on it. You have two hours before we start cutting._"

The line went dead and Vegeta started shaking. No one threatened his woman without paying a certain price. No one.

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A/N: REVIEW OR THEY START CUTTING


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: This is for the prompt: love. However, you'll notice this is (pretty much) the only time I will not use the actual word in the drabble, simply because I agree with the usual consensus that Vegeta doesn't really understand/agree with the idea. So this is more of an expression of Vegeta's "love" for Bulma. Anyways, ENJOY!

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**Love**

When Trunks found his father, Vegeta was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was so still, Trunks began to wonder if his father hadn't fallen asleep in this position, and considered backing out of the room when the Saiyan's shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. His hands fell away to reveal a haggard face.

"What is it?" he asked without opening his eyes, and Trunks blinked at him for a moment.

"I was just wondering if-"

"No, I haven't found her."

"Do you know what-"

"Somebody is holding her for ransom." When Vegeta opened his eyes, his son took an automatic step back. The stillness Trunks had mistaken for despair was a desperate attempt to rein in the wild and flaring emotions of a protective monster. "I still cannot find her. She is either heavily sedated or knocked unconscious or…"

He didn't say it. He didn't want to. He didn't have to.

Trunks bit his lip as his father sighed roughly, bringing a hand up to rub irritably at his face. He couldn't tell Goku or Gohan or Goten or Piccolo; his father had sworn him to silence, and his Saiyan pride held him to his word. It only heightened his anxiety; he would not be able to stop a rampaging Vegeta if worst-came-to-worst. The boy wondered if he could maybe get his father to promise not to destroy the planet if…if things didn't work out.

A sharp note rang in their senses, a shrill cry that they felt more than heard.

Vegeta was on his feet, eyes open and hands clenched into fists; both were glaring in the same direction, north of West City. Boy glanced at man and vice versa, and then Vegeta was almost running towards the balcony of the room. Trunks was following until his father turned abruptly and forced him back with his gaze.

"No," he said sternly. "Stay here."

"She's my mom!" the demi-Saiyan cried. "I want to get her back just as much as you!"

"Trunks," he replied. It was a warning.

"You can't stop me!"

The elder sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose; he didn't have time to argue with a twelve year old! But he decided that his son deserved a decent explanation, so he lowered his hand and stared directly into those blue eyes, so like his mother's.

"You know what I've done, yes?"

Trunks blinked; the subject change wasn't hard to follow, though it was confusing. He wondered if this was another warning. "Kind of. I don't know all the facts or details, but I know enough."

"Then you know I am not a good man, Trunks. I do not deny my past; I wear it like a second skin. It has molded me, created something most fear. I am a killer, boy, and somebody has had the audacity to lay their hands upon my wife."

He didn't need to hear the rest to understand.

_I will slaughter anyone who has touched her._

Vegeta didn't want his only son to see that.

Trunks didn't want to, either.

Thus, the boy nodded and took a step back, relenting silently. Vegeta grunted and was gone in a second, leaving his son staring after him. Trunks found himself almost pitying the men that had taken his mother, because they had no idea the wrath they had just unleashed upon themselves.

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A/N: Haha! Review to find Bulma!


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: WOO. The one we've been waiting for! Now. Let's see Vegeta kick some ass.

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**Hugs**

He held on to that tug, that distinct pull of Bulma's ki, followed it as best he could, until he was in an abandoned and questionable area just east of North City. He hung in the air, glancing around and feeling for that ki. There was nothing; so many levels similar to her, just not _her_. Where was she?

There. He felt it; that quick flare of a meager power level. Pain. Anger. Maybe fear.

Vegeta landed on the roof of an eight-story building full of empty offices, a business that had been shut down a while ago for some reason or another, he didn't know and didn't care. His feet tapped when they touched the roof, but he made no other noise as he strode to the roof access. Extending his right hand, a small blast formed and decimated the door, leaving a smoking entrance in its place. A few shouts and calls came from the stairwell, followed immediately by running footsteps moving away from him.

_It takes tact and cunning to pull off a one-man ambush,_ King Vegeta's voice echoed in his mind from over three decades before. _But sometimes, all you can do is run in head-first, firing at anything that moves._

Fire at anything that moves. That sounded like a good plan to him.

The Saiyan strolled in, glanced over the railing of the stairs, and jumped over them with one swift motion. He landed easily, jumped over the next, then the next, then the next, until he slipped in front of one of the fleeing men. The man's blue eyes bugged out of his head as he stared at the angry man before him. He was Bulma Brief's husband, a participant in the Cell Games. They hadn't really thought of him as much of a threat, since no one had seen him fight and Mr. Satan had been the one to defeat Cell; he realized now how bad of a mistake that judgment had been.

"Where is she?" the Saiyan snarled, grabbing the man's shirt front and hauling him close. The man stuttered, and Vegeta shook him. "If you tell me, I will spare your life."

He didn't need any more coercion than that. "Basement. Straight down, take a right. Farthest door down. Boiler room."

Vegeta grinned at him, a cold and mirthless expression. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" The man swallowed, and then heard a horrible tearing sound as a crippling pain overwhelmed his torso. When his vision cleared and solidified, he glanced down, and thought he would faint. The man's arm from the wrist up, thick with muscle and marred with scars, was protruding from his waist, covered in his blood. He looked at the monster.

"B-but… You said…"

Vegeta smirked. "I lied." The crippling pain doubled and the man passed out as the Saiyan ripped his arm from the wound, holding the crushed remnants of his liver, stomach, and intestines in his hand.

From there, just above the sixth floor, Vegeta checked the building for other low power levels destined to die, but they were moving, heading downstairs to regroup; there were maybe eight in all. As his face set in that determined scowl, the prince made his way down the stairwell, ignoring the blood that covered his left hand.

They were on the first floor, talking and arguing, when he arrived. From what he could hear, they knew one of their members was missing, knew someone had inexplicably come barging in from the roof, and they were trying to plan accordingly. The guy was somewhere in the building. Maybe what's-his-name wasn't dead. Someone suggested two people guard their prisoner. Vegeta's eye twitched. He had his back pushed against the wall, hands loose and ready to fire at the first sign of a threat, and he had turned his head so his ear was aimed at the door. His obsidian eyes stared at nothing. Footsteps came towards him, and he inhaled; like a sniper, he prepared: breathe slowly, concentrate, pull the trigger. The door opened, revealing a muscular man with olive skin and beady eyes. In a blur of movement, Vegeta had spun on him, left hand releasing a small blast in front of his face and disintegrating his head as his right grabbed for the doorknob. The force of the explosion pushed the limp body against the man behind him, sent them both flying; the Saiyan slipped inside and shut the door behind him, thus blocking the room's only exit.

_Two down_, he thought with a smirk. The blood rushed through his veins; small specks of blood on his face made him twice as threatening. This was what he'd been aching for.

"Seems you've taken something of mine," he growled to the men that stared at him, his voice husky with bloodlust. One man raised a rather large gun and fired twice at the intruder; there was no blood or falling body. The man with the flame-hair had his arm extended, unclenched his fingers, and two small pieces of metal fell clinking to the floor. His smirk only broadened.

"Piece by piece," he snarled, smirk vanishing. "Yes, I think that was a good idea. I will take you all apart. _Piece. By. Piece._"

The crony that had fallen beneath the decapitated body began to scream; Vegeta was on him immediately, his fingers digging into his throat, closing around his wind pipe. With a snarl, he pulled, taking some of the man's trachea with him. The screaming shifted into gurgling and wheezing. Several others started shouting and firing their weapons; the bullets bounced off harmlessly, and when dark eyes turned their violent gaze upon them, they tried to run. He was in front of them, blocking the exit, laughing and charging simultaneously. The Saiyan grabbed the first man's gun, attached to him by a strap, and pulled, effectively ripping the arm off entirely. He used the butt of the gun in his hand to crack another's skull, and the body fell to the floor, limp. The third tried to sneak up on him, but Vegeta spun, grabbed his head by his jaw, and dug his fingers into the flesh. With an animal cry, he twisted, pulled, and slammed the man head-first into the tile with enough force to crush the cranium and send gray matter flying.

As the blood started to spread, he turned to the others, who were staring stunned and terrified. "Who's next?"

The screams didn't last long enough to call attention to the building.

In the basement, the Saiyan prince walked slowly and with dignity. He had turned right and was making his way to the boiler room, farthest door down the hall. A weak ki that he could feel more now than before was pulsing, pulling him, easing his concerns. He could feel her; she was alive. One last man approached him –he had been guarding the room Bulma was in– but stopped midway; the short man with strange hair was covered in blood and didn't seem opposed to wearing more. Before he could run, Vegeta was in front of him, casually punching him in the jaw hard enough to break his neck; he never broke stride.

The door was locked but gave with a strong enough push. The room was dark, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. There, in the corner, tethered to a rusted pipe by a rope around her neck and cuffs on her right wrist, was an unconscious Bulma. Bruises were forming on her left eye; her nose looked broken, her lip busted, and dried blood turned some of her aquamarine hair brown. She didn't move as Vegeta untied the rope or broke the handcuffs. As he made to pick her up, he finally noticed how much blood was on his hands; idly, he tried to wipe them off on his shirt and jeans, to no avail. After a moment, he gave up, and lifted her easily.

"Woman," he said softly, trying to rouse her. "Woman, open your eyes." Nothing. Vegeta sighed, holding her tighter and resting his forehead against hers. "Bulma."

There. She stirred. She wasn't comatose. Appeased, he carried her to the first floor, blasted a hole in the closest wall, and stepped out into the fading sunlight. Gently, he shifted Bulma so that he held her with one arm. With a final glance backwards, he extended his free arm and fired a massive blast.

He had vanished into the air before the building finished collapsing.

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A/N: Sorry if that was a little brutal, but damn that was fun to write. Review please!


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball/Z/GT.**

A/N: Wow, you guys like violence. Anyways, prompt is cuddling. Danihime86, I thought they needed a sweet moment too; I hope this scratches your itch.

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**Cuddling**

A soft groan roused him from his restless sleep, and the pale green light from the bedside alarm clock illuminated Bulma's scrunched up face. She tossed her head and winced and whined, sometimes said something incoherent. Vegeta felt sympathy; he knew that place, the place of endless beatings and situations that could have gone worse, that do go worse in dreams. As he furrowed his brows and watched her writhe, her busted lips parted and she tried to say his name, but the thick haze of deep sleep held it back. He eased one arm around her waist, placed his hand flat on her back, and pulled her gently into his chest. After a while, her tossing eased as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck.

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A sprained wrist. A concussion. A broken nose. Three broken ribs. A cracked cheek bone. Two dozen contusions. Seven stitches.

Vegeta had only left her side to wash off the blood.

The doctor had wanted to keep her in the Capsule Corp. infirmary, but the Saiyan had been adamant about returning her home. Eventually, the doctor had relented and let him carry Bulma back upstairs, all the while calling after him to watch carefully for signs of serious physical damage and call him if she worsened. The prince had ignored him; if need be, he'd take her to Dende, but for now, she would survive, and he wanted to keep this entire incident under wraps.

Trunks had seen Vegeta return to the house before he could shower; they had stopped and stared at one another, the boy turning pale and feeling weak in the knees, the man staring hard at him with an unrelenting and unapologetic gaze. Trunks turned and dashed to his room, vomiting into the trash can and locking the door tight. He wondered long into the night if that was the man that had first come to Earth; if that was the gaze that had watched planets die; if that was the rampaging Saiyan his mother had tamed. A new appreciation for his parents' bizarre bond dawned over him as he drifted into a restless sleep where he dreamed of his father walking the streets of Earth and killing everything in his path.

Bulma had awoken in the dark, weak and sore and very confused. She'd started to twist and winced in pain. Panic had begun to cloud her mind when a rough hand touched her forehead gently.

"Quiet, woman," a gravelly voice mumbled. Bulma raised her eyes, and in the dark, a silhouette with flame hair was sitting up beside her.

"Vegeta," she whispered, easing against his touch. He grunted.

"You are safe," he continued. "Though not unharmed. They beat the hell out of you, didn't they?" She tried nodding, but dizziness made the world toss, so she sufficed with a soft 'yes.' He shook his head as he growled. Bulma smiled slightly.

"You were worried about me, weren't you?" Through the dark, she could still see his glare, and it made her chuckle.

"Stupid woman," Vegeta grumbled, turning his body so he was facing her. "You are weak and I could not sense you. I thought you were dead."

"You _were_ worried." Another growl, deep in his chest, but his hand was turning her face to look at him, and he seemed to be inspecting her in the dark. "Vegeta? Did… Did you…?"

"Mind what you ask, woman," he interrupted. "I will not lie to you."

That told her enough. Yeah, he got them.

"No one else but Trunks knows," the Saiyan said suddenly. "It was dealt with privately." For some reason, this came as a comfort to her; knowing she was safe with her prince, the bad guys were gone, and she wouldn't have the entirety of the Z-Warriors fretting over her health came as a relief, and she began to drift off once more, but Vegeta shifted, and suddenly his face was very close, his breath warm on her tender features. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Bulma," he whispered; the use of her name gave him her full attention. "They didn't…_do_ anythi-"

"Mind what you ask, Prince," she muttered. "I won't lie to you. Besides, does it really matter now?"

He blinked. Damn her for turning his own words against him. Yet, she was right: did it really matter? The men were dead, regardless of what they may or may not have inflicted upon his wife. Knowing the details now would only entice more rage. Her gaze matched his, until he relented and his hard features eased as they only did in the dark, when he thought she couldn't see him, revealing a relief and disgrace so deep it hurt her to see it haunting him. As gently as he could, he kissed her, calmed by the knowledge that she still had some strength of her own, and returned to his vigil beside her, watching and thinking and basking in her warmth.

* * *

She called it 'cuddling.' He wasn't sure he liked the term, but in the night, alone in the room they shared, Vegeta allowed her to nestle against him, one arm curled close to her stomach, the other with its hand placed flat against his chest, her breath tickling his neck as she breathed. When her hair had been longer, it would tangle in the night and sometimes poke his face; now, it stayed in place (mostly) and splayed beautifully over her sleeping features, which he would watch when his own dreams kept him awake. Tonight, it was bruised and slightly misshapen, but he didn't look away. The Saiyan prince had not slept well in days, but so long as he could look at that battered face and that cerulean hair, all was well.

The face he had killed for. The face he had died for.

He rested his forehead against Bulma's, breathed deep, eased back into his light doze.

The end.

* * *

A/N: Woo! That's the end, guys and gals, hope you enjoyed it. I know it gets maybe a _little_ sappy, but I started this series with this exact end in mind: peaceful, gentle, happy for the most part. This was a fun series, but it was a little short. If you guys think of any prompt ideas, send 'em my way via message or review, and maybe I'll collect them and do another drabble series like this; also, if you'd like to see that series involving_ different characters_, tell me. Anyways, please review, tell me what you thought! And go read 'How It Should Have Been,' my other series that I'm working on. Not drabble.

Thank you all for reading! ~Lezlarr


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